"Is it good or bad?"
"Good!"
Caterpillarus twig mimicus.
Here you can see the red stripe on his back, which is Caterpillarian for Don't Fuck With Me.
When he reached the end of the stick he went a little epilepticrazy like he wanted to throw himself off but didn't have the courage. You can't see it in the picture, but there were laser beams shooting out of his eyes.
These are potted, which only slightly increases the chance they will not be dead a week from now.
HEB says these are Larkspurs, and you know I always believe what the store tells me.
Here is The Monkey, with the delightful bamboo plant he gave me. It came with the following warning: "Be careful for pandas, because PANDAS EAT BAMBOO!"
This is the look of gratitude I get every day that lets me know just how appreciated I am.
Here we have Fleurius Glitterus, also known as That Which Would Be Hideous Under Any Other Circumstances But Which Is Lovely When Your Child Picks It Out For You.
"Thank god I'm not allergic to cats," I thought this morning as I buried my nose in Gus the cat's belly. I already couldn't breathe because of this cold/swine flu/apocalypse in my nose, so that probably would've been the final asphyxiating straw on the snotty camel's back.
My Mom and Brother are both allergic to cats so I'm pleased I managed to dodge this particular bullet. My Dad likes cats more than people so that probably helped.
Here are the two furrball members of our family. Gus (left) is the fiend who constantly schemes times and places to jump Maggie, and Maggie (right) is the one with the ghosts in her eyes.
Because when you cut me off doing 10 under the speed limit and I pulled up to see you staring vacantly into space with a finger jammed up your nose, I almost shit a gold brick.
Would it be too weird for me to ask a breastfeeding stranger for some breast milk for my seven year old's pink eye?
Yeah?
Huh.
